the lionhearted boy

Dinah knew it wasn’t the first time that someone had seen her in a vulnerable position and she doubted it would be the last. However that didn’t mean that she accepted it any easier. When she eventually looked up to find the almost drained face of Nicholas Esquer, she didn’t even have it in her to turn him away. So, she gratefully took the cup from him, “Thanks, and yes, you can sit here,” she nodded, bringing the cup to her lips. “Sometimes it’s almost like a form of torture… the noise I mean,” she said after a new moments. 

Leaned forward on his elbows, Nik fiddled with an old, worn-down lighter - partly because it was something to do, partly because the faint, repetitive clicks calmed some animalistic side of him that thrived on routine. The same side that dreamt of the army, someplace where regrets weren’t a luxury time could afford. “Oh, those are the worst.”, he said absentmindedly after a moment, voice distant until he clicked the lighter shut and broke the spell, “Psychological tortures, I mean - physical I can take.” The dissonance was the key, it allowed no room for getting used to it - only a code blue recognised here and there, but otherwise, it left him unable to tune out, even when he was sleeping. “I had a friend once, a doc - an excellent one - couldn’t stand these places. Never seen a man as out of his element as he was in scrubs, or in his element patching up nasty wounds in the middle of a war zone. He said he hated the system, but I think he just hated all... this.”

“You’re an idiot,” she muttered groggily. Her voice was unusually rough from the lack of use in the last week or so. Elliot only barely getting her to speak two days prior. The witch was completely over her hospital stay and would thankfully be released in the next two days. The dreary atmosphere was draining and the abundance supernatural entities in such close proximity didn’t help. “And why they hell are you all the way over there?” Remi questioned, closing her eyes briefly.

“Of course your first words to me would be - you’re an idiot.”, he deadpanned, though there was a trace of a smile at the corners of his lips as he leaned his head back against the headrest, watching her with the corner of his eye. “It’s better than staring at me, which was mildly creepy by the way - so I’m not going to complain.” He could feel the tension in his shoulders as he shifted, attempting to stretch it out - days of half-assed armchair sleep had caught up to him. “I think I just passed out the moment I came here, it’s quieter than at Julian’s place.” He stood up though, grimacing as he moved towards the chair that had been placed near the bed - by Elliot probably - he needed to move more frequently, but energy was a sparse thing these days. “Better? Does that voice mean you won’t be able to yell at me for the next few days, because that’d be just swell.” 

“Time of death, 19:43″

Dinah’s voice rang around the operating theatre as the machines were slowly shut off. This wasn’t the first death of the day and it wouldn’t be the last. The original knew coming into the surgery that the man’s chance of survival was almost impossible. But she wanted to try because everyone deserved that. But still, Dinah was pulling off her scrubs, mask and gloves with knitted brows before tossing them in the bin. “I’m going to need a few moments,” was all she said to the rest of doctors and nurses as she exited, throwing the door open and out into the somewhat quiet corridor since it was away from the wards. She stood for a second before let out a frustrated growl and giving a chair several good kicks before sinking down onto the undamaged one next to it. Dinah rested her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, not even lifting her head when she head someone coming. 

He should’ve gone home hours ago, but it felt like everyone had given up trying to get people to leave, and his distaste for being home alone somehow managed to outweigh his general distaste for the bleak hospital walls and the smell of disinfectants. But to expect a quiet, deserted place in a hospital was an unrealistic aspiration, which didn’t mean he didn’t rush down the corridor when he heard loud bangs coming from just around the corner. Whatever he’d expected, and he hardly lacked imagination - it certainly wasn’t Dinah Davenport on a chair, head in her hands and entirely lacking a reaction to his presence. Nik supposed he should’ve just turned around and gone back the way he came, but that felt wrong and bigoted on a whole other level. “I’ve been told tea helps.”, he said as he made his way across the corridor, to slink into a chair next to the woman as he extended the hand holding the fresh cup of machine-made tea, “Probably an old wives tale but... worth a shot. It’s yours if you let me sit here, can’t deal with the... noise anymore.” 

Aalis felt as though she was getting cabin fever in her room, she had barely said anything to anyone apart from Quinn and now she felt as though the walls were getting closer together. But as soon as she found out there was a rooftop garden, she was hobbling into the wheelchair after pulling on a hat that had been brought for her and was making her way to the elevator. Once she was in, she pressed the button ad waited patiently for it to arrived at the top floor. 

Because of the cold, the garden was almost deserted when she went out. But the crisp air and lack of people was a welcome sight for her as she moved around the paths before settling in a spot that had a good view. It was the first time she was grateful for her nose dressing as it kept it from becoming too numb. As soon as she heard someone’s footsteps she spoke up, “It’s nice to be in a place that doesn’t feel too much like a hospital,” she noted as she looked over the city. 

His hand reached for the cigarettes the moment he felt the cold air of the rooftop rush over him, shaky fingers and a beaten-down pack - it seemed like that was his thing these days. He’d left Julian downstairs in his room, desperate for a dose of nicotine - truth be told, he couldn’t quite remember the last time it was this critical. Was it Afghanistan? College? It was a way to deal with stress, and he didn’t much care as long as it worked. “Not a fan?”, he asked after a moment it took him to realise there was another person up here with him, and as he fiddled with the lighter he made his way across the rooftop towards her. “Neither am I. Nothing good ever happens around here.” Clean and sterile, it reminded him only of childhood traumas and Minna broken and frail and connected to a thousand tubes. “Fuck it’s cold, I should’ve reconsidered bringing a coat.”

“Even though I already know the answer,” she started, only barely glancing from the crystalline window that pressed scintillated lights illuminating the tree beyond to look a little more mystical, Isa nursed the champagne glass close to her chest, “I’ll without a doubt always find myself asking how they get the star on top.” Childlike hopes that one day the answer would be a little more exciting than it was. “Any other time of year, something so grand would look absolutely ridiculous.”

“Turn the question around then...”, he started, swirling the liquid in his glass before he took a sip, thoughtful gaze on the blurry Christmas lights outside, “What do you want the answer to be?” It was almost strangely comical, how easy it was to just talk and gloss over the fact it was a Bordeaux he was standing next to - the girl had a strange way of seeming more human than most humans did. “I think you get used to it, after a while.”, he had to look away from the grandiosity and the opulence of the ball behind them before his eyes started to hurt. In comparison, the tree looked more subdued, somehow more genuine. He wanted to be outside, and he wanted a cigarette. “The whole ostentatious show of wealth and power. Everyone becomes sort of disillusioned with it.” For him, in those first years it always felt like he was an intruder, not supposed to be here, impressed by everything - did he start to belong when it stopped occurring to him that this was something he snaked his way into, when it became just a party? 

Remi grabbed a champagne flute from one of the passing trays to give her hands something to do. Quietly, she cast a spell of the liquid to assure it’s cleanliness. She’d had enough surprises at theses events to last her a lifetime. Satisfied with the lack of poison, the Duval took as sip and surveyed the room. Everyone looked stunning as usual, the concert had been ethereal as always, and she was waiting for the Ouroboros shoe to drop. “A dash of paranoia, anyone?”

Nik never really learned to like champagne, it was just one of those things he begrudgingly put up with on events like this for the sake of appearances, and because sipping it was just something to do when pauses in the conversations had to be filled and he was sick of chuckling. “Just a dash? You’re good.”, he commented dryly as he let the liquid in his glass swirl, gaze scouring the crowd as if he might find something strange in the sea of decadence. But they weren’t the only ones - security was even tighter on the party this year, and any other time it would’ve been an overkill, but Nik doubted everything and everyone these days. “I feel naked. There was no way I could sneak a blade into this thing, much less something more useful.”

“–I’m serious, I bet you twenty bucks he can play Toxic on the cello,” Addison nodded confidently as she watched Yo-Yo Ma several feet away, out of earshot thankfully, talking with some party goers. “If not Toxic then at least Oops I did it again. You should go ask him,” she joked, taking a sip of her drink. The Vale wanted to enjoy tonight without the feeling of constant dread hanging over her, just as she suspected many others did as well. 

“The fact that you have to say I’m serious kind of sheds doubt on this whole thing.”, Nik joked, eyes still on the intricate work of Yo-Yo Ma’s hands on the cello. It had always eluded him - the amount of talent, practice, required for this sort of thing. Maybe that was why he just always stuck to the piano. “Me? Oh no, no that’s not how this works - you should go ask him. I’ll give you 50 bucks for it, he doesn’t even have to know how to play it. I just want to see that happen.”

“I was,” Collins answered in a disgruntled tone of voice as he was pulled to the side. Just wish his luck he would find himself in this situation. He wanted to walk away but there were so many witnesses and if he was shot then it would cause more warm than good when they would want him going to the hospital and worried about his life when it wasn’t something they needed to worry about.

“Well, I figure most of us were.”, Nik said offhandedly as he walked back towards the corner to peek at what was happening - blue lights already flashing, the crowd thinning, the flash of a camera here and there. “We should go - they’ll start rounding up witnesses, unless you want to stay and deal with that. Something gives me a feeling that you don’t.” 

The shots had had Matthias on high alert, and when someone grabbed him, he was ready to fight and pull away before he recognized the man. Instead, he let himself be led around the corner. He noticed the hand under Nik’s jacket. “I’m good, you good?” he asked, nodding towards the concealed hand, hoping the other man wasn’t injured. 

It was only after they’d gotten behind the corner and there was no imminent threat that Nik recognised it was Matthias he had dragged after him. “Oh good, it’s you.” Fewer explanations needed, less worrying - in these situations, when adrenaline had him running high, Nik was hardly a people person. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Oh, it’s just...”, he pushed the suit jacket slightly back to reveal the gun hidden deeply behind - even in his formal attire, Nik was never really without at least some kind of weapon, “Just in case, but I don’t think anyone’s coming, he obviously did what he wanted to do judging by the reaction.”

“Trust me, I have seen some bad things done with food,” Oliver chuckled. “But in general, yeah I agree with you. It’s what…like Joey from friends when he says it’s all good. Sweet potatoes are good. Though please tell me you don’t like the dish where they put little marshmallows in.” He laughed again and raised his own beer in a salute to the other man. “Gotta start spreading the holiday cheer early?” 

“Joey’s got a point though.”, Nik frowned over his beer, as if this was some serious polemic rather than an entirely random conversation started in a bar, “Though I’ve always related to Chandler more, I dig the whole existential crisis vibe.” He was playing with the coaster, a chuckle leaving his lips as he turned to look at the man again, “The hell are you even talking about? I know nothing about it, and it already sounds like a disaster. Oh good luck with that, I’ve been called a Grinch before.” 

It was through a mutual friend last Christmas that she officially met Nik Esquer. She heard of the Esquer clan, another hunting family in the area, but never had much of any relations with any of its members. Their conversation at that time was lighthearted and she appreciated his insight on the topic at hand. With her return to the city, she reached out to him to grab a bite after her meeting that morning. Magnolia was picking his brain over a high profile case that was making its wave through the media at the moment as they left the restaurant to go grab some coffee. As they rounded the corner, piercing gunshots echoed in the air and with that a wave of pandemonium ensued. His reaction was a hair quicker than hers and she followed his lead to safety, nodding agreement that they had to flee the area. “I’m fine,” she panted as they entered a bookstore. “What the hell was that?” she peered out the window to see a few more souls run down the street. 

Nik never liked journalists, which was an ironic thing in itself. But he had learned to deal with a lot more throughout his life - there wasn’t anything a few smiles and a carefully constructed semi-truth couldn’t fix. Those particular tactics became unnecessary with time, at least in case of a select few, including Magnolia - she didn’t seem to be sensationalist, there was no clinging to his words and no twisting involved, it wasn’t about sneakily getting gritty little details out, and more so about the story, the logistics of it. He was standing now, looking out towards the street where, in the distance, blue lights flashing could be seen, the rush and disarray that followed these kinds of deaths. “A sniper, somewhere northwest on one of the buildings. Pretty high up, it couldn’t have been easy to make the shot - I’d say military grade training. If he wasn’t a murderer, I’d want that sort of guy to have my back in combat.” He could see the bookstore clerk curiously snooping around, listening to the conversation at the fringes of his line of sight. “No silencer though, he wanted to make a fucking scene out of it.” Somewhere inside, a part of him was calm in that animalistic sense of the word - the bastard had deserved to die, even if it wasn’t done through legal channels, this way it was certain he wasn’t going to kill again. Another part of him thought this was a fucking vigilante mess. He turned towards Magnolia, “There’ll be an investigation and the families of the victims are going to be the first suspects. Like they haven’t been through enough. Either that or you’re going to be working on stories about a crazed vigilante in the next few months.”

               “If we’re being logical in this scenario, it would have no choice but to deter men because it would be the closed sign that would go up in the door. Any bouncer would escort them out,” she stated with her matter-of-face tone as her eyebrows raised on her forehead with a sly smirk on her lips. Crossing her legs underneath the table, slim fingers wrapping themselves around her coffee mug, she shrugged a shoulder as her mind scrambled for the answer. “I actually have no idea how but the pun came quite quickly to my mind.”

“It says they’re clothed and sorry about it, doesn’t say anything about them not being there or not working. If we’re being logical here, that was a false dichotomy.” It was always the technicalities - he had built a life around them, around the choice of words and a sneaky slip of the tongue. He brought the coffee to his lips, looking away from the screen for a moment as a slight smirk tugged at his lips, “Don’t worry kiddo, I’ve caught bigger fish on a logical fallacy. Everyone seems to just love the straw man.” He cast his gaze down to the papers before him, skimming through for a particular line as a sigh of mild annoyance at it escaped his lips, “How’s your brother doing by the way? He should come train with us on Sunday.”